


bright light city (gonna set my soul on fire)

by brojan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brojan/pseuds/brojan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>accidentally married in vegas fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bright light city (gonna set my soul on fire)

**Author's Note:**

> this was requested twice at the [lirry ficathon](http://liam-harry.livejournal.com/3256.html), so this is for aj_fics and [loki_unleashed](http://liam-harry.livejournal.com/3256.html?thread=39096#t39096). title from elvis presley's viva las vegas.

Las Vegas is scorching, the brutal sun beating down unrelenting, the kind of heat that makes the air shimmer, all gold and tan around them. It’s dry, too, and Harry licks his lips as he steps off the bus; he’s already picturing himself poolside, a tropical drink in hand, sweating down the sides of the cup and over his fingers.

There are a few fans waiting, and Harry stops to take pictures, noting their red cheeks, ruddy with the heat. It’s only fair they get something for their troubles. 

“Are the other boys coming out?” one of them asks, and he grins ruefully. 

“I’m not enough for you, hm?” he asks, as he leans over to get his face in her camera lens. 

Her eyes widen comically. “No, no, you are!” Her hand finds his bicep, squeezes painfully. He smiles to placate her. 

“Reckon they’ll be along eventually,” he tells her, and he’s getting closer to the air-conditioned hotel, he can feel the blast of manufactured cold air every time the doors slide open. The truth is he’s not sure where the boys are; he’d made the trip to Vegas on Lou’s bus. 

The others do turn up soon enough. Harry’s already in his swim trunks, a towel thrown across his shoulders, loitering in the hallway waiting for Lou to get Lux in her swimming suit when a door down the hall opens and Liam steps out. 

They’re comically opposed to each other; Harry wearing as near to nothing as he can get, and Liam in jeans, a hoodie, sneakers, and a snapback, barely any skin visible. He’s been doing that all summer, dressing like he’s in the fucking Arctic in January, but anytime Harry asks him, “Aren’t you hot?” he just smiles and shakes his head no. 

Harry doesn’t ask this time; the truth is his own skin is dotted with goosebumps, cold in the hotel air conditioning.

“Hey, Haz,” Liam says, smiling tiredly. He always looks tired when he’s not on stage lately. “How was the trip over?”

Harry pushes his sunglasses up into his hair, so he can look Liam in the eye. “Was fine,” he says. “Finished series two of Sex and the City.”

Liam laughs then, the way he always laughs at things Harry says, no matter what they are, like just Harry speaking is amusing. 

“A worthy accomplishment,” he says, and then he moves to go down the hallway and Harry notices the ice bucket in his hand. 

“You wanna go to the pool, Li?” Harry calls after him. 

Liam looks over his shoulder, smiling again, always smiling. “No, thanks,” he says, unfailing polite. “Need a nap, I think.” 

 

"I'm gonna get Liam to come out with us tonight." 

He's spread out over a pool chair and the sun is burning him up from the outside in. When he can't take it anymore he'll dive into the pool, but for now he wills himself to stay in the fire. 

"Why's that?" Lou asks, standing over him. He shifts so she's blocking the sun. 

Harry frowns. He holds up an arm to inspect his tan, but it's too bright and his sunglasses too shaded to really tell. "He's homesick, I think," Harry says, but he knows that's not it, exactly. He is homesick, they all are, sick of living out of suitcases and hotels, sick of wearing the same clothes every other day, but it's different for Liam; something more like heart sick. Unsettled, like he doesn’t know where to be homesick for anymore. He doesn't seem sad about the break-up, not anymore, just a little... lost. And maybe Harry isn't as good at cheering him up as Louis, not as good at giving advice as Zayn, but if he's good at something it's being a distraction.

Lou shifts next to him, holding a cool water bottle against her face. "Does he know your plan?" she asks, and peers into the cabana, checking in on Lux. 

"Not yet," Harry tells her. 

Lou shrugs then, gathering her hair and tying it up into a knot. "Well, I wouldn't bet against you." She laughs, looking down at him, her face blotted out by the sun. "Get it? Bet? Cause we're in Vegas."

He shakes his head; it's a terrible joke, but he laughs anyway. "Glad for your confidence in me."

She picks up a towel, starts to wipe off her neck, moving toward the cabana. "Not you, mate," she says, distracted. Harry flips over to see what Lux is doing. "Liam has a hard time saying no to you boys." 

Harry pouts. He wants it to be his powers of persuasion, not Liam's accommodating nature. "Because I know what's best for him, and he knows that," Harry calls after her, but she's already out of earshot. 

 

When Liam opens his hotel room door, Harry's grinning, his best and brightest and most convincing smile. 

Liam smiles back, but he says immediately, "Whatever you're thinking, no." He turns back into his room, and he's still in that horrid hoodie, but at least he's changed into basketball shorts. Harry's skin is still on fire from the sun, feeling dry and stretched out from soaking up chlorine all afternoon. 

Louis's settled on Liam's hotel room floor, because of course he is. "Hi, Harry," he says, barely lifting his eyes from his phone screen. Harry kicks his ankle, gentle, as he passes and follows Liam, who flops onto the bed.

"I resent being told no before you know what I'm going to say," Harry tells him, perching at the edge of the bed.

"I don't have to hear what you're going to say," Liam says, pulling his laptop onto his chest and opening it. "I know your face."

"Don't be so suspicious, Liam," Louis calls, somewhere out of sight on the floor. 

"Yeah, Liam," Harry echoes, and Harry knows Liam is rolling his eyes even though his laptop screen is blocking it. 

Harry moves to grab his ankle. "You're coming out with Lou and me tonight," Harry says in his most authoritative voice. 

Liam lowers his laptop screen to look at him, his eyebrow furrowed. "Lou and I are going to a movie tonight," he says, and Louis's head pops up at the foot of the bed, peering at them. 

"I'm going to guess he means Lou Teasdale," Louis pipes in. "Other Lou. The inferior Lou." Harry turns to face him slowly and he grins and says, "Don't tell her I said that," before he disappears below the line of the bed again, out of sight.

"Go to a movie tomorrow," Harry says. "Come out with me tonight." 

Liam jerks his leg out of Harry's grasp, but Harry just leans over and grabs it again. "I don't wanna go out," he grumbles. "I'm tired." 

"You're always tired," Harry reminds him, "Might as well do something to earn it." 

Liam glares at him, and Louis jumps up again, standing over them. 

"You should go, Liam," he says, and he's using his sincere voice, the one Liam always falls for. "Could use a night out." 

Liam looks up at Louis, and they have one of those silent conversations Harry can't follow. Harry waits a few moments, and then he squeezes Liam's ankle until he looks down at Harry. Harry grins his best smile again. 

Liam laughs, rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Fine," he says, and he pushes up his laptop screen until Harry can't see his face anymore. "But I'm not staying out late."

"We'll see," Harry says, letting go of him and jumping up. He pauses on his way out, looks at Louis. 

"You could come too," he offers, already knowing the answer. 

Louis brushes him off like it's easy, and Harry can't be sure, maybe it is easy for him now. "No thanks, Harry my boy, think I'll catch up on my beauty sleep while this one is out of my hair." 

Harry hears them laughing behind him as he leaves. He got what he wanted, but it feels less like a victory than he expected. 

 

A few hours later Harry is back at Liam's door, and when he answers this time he's alone and dressed up, one of those nice shiny button ups he always wears out and his Louis Vuitton belt. 

"Designer," Harry says, grabbing at it obnoxiously. "You've really changed, Liam. What happened to Batman?" 

"I am Batman," Liam says, batting his hands away distractedly until he spots his phone buried in the covers. "Are Zayn or Nialler coming?"

Harry catches sight of himself in the mirror in the corner and sets to fixing his hair, such as it is. He's still wearing the same tee and jeans he was earlier, not dressed up like Liam, but he's tan and young and he's in Vegas, so he can’t be bothered.

"Niall's with Josh writing," he mumbles. "Zayn's skyping with Perrie, but he might meet up later."

Liam grunts his acknowledgement. Then, "Are you sure we won't have trouble getting in somewhere?" 

Harry shrugs him off. "If I can get into bars in New York City, Vegas will be a breeze." 

Liam looks at him while he tucks his wallet in his back pocket. "Did you get into clubs in New York?" he asks, and Harry forgot - he barely saw Liam that week, staying in a different hotel in the City while the other boys stayed out in Long Island. 

"Just a couple," he says blankly, and Liam looks at him and doesn't smile and it's disconcerting. "Ready to go?" 

 

It's easier once they meet up with Lou and some of the other crew. Liam seems to be having fun, the Strip is all lit up and sparkling, and Marco buys them a foot-long daiquiri to share while they walk to the club. 

"I quite like daiquiris," Liam informs him, his smile easier, not looking so tired. 

"That does not surprise me at all," Harry says, and twists Liam's nipple just because he can. Liam pretends to be mad, but he can only hold it for a second and then he's laughing, his face scrunched up, and Harry can never help but laugh too. 

They walk through one of the ritzy hotels until someone in a suit with an earpiece finds them and leads them through a side door, bypassing the long line to get in the club. They're led straight to VIP, a huge table sectioned off, and immediately bottles start arriving at the table. Harry's caught up in it, the music and the drinks, the lights and the crowds dancing below them. It's not long until people start to spot him at the railing looking down, and then a few girls start waving up at him, but overall the crowd is too old to care much. Harry accepts a drink from someone at the table, rolls his neck and starts to relax. 

The next he spots Liam, he's being dragged onto the dance floor behind Lou. Dragged is probably too strong a word - just as Lou knows not to ask Harry to go with her, they both know that as much Liam will claim he's a terrible dancer, he loves it. It was probably his idea to go dance in the first place. Harry watches them bouncing to a Nicki Minaj song, the lights flashing blue and green over them, and he smiles a little. 

"Hey!" Someone's shouting, almost in his ear, and Harry jumps, his drink sloshing over the sides. He widens his eyes as he looks up. A guy is leaning over from the table next to theirs, looking right at Harry. "Hey, you're Harry Styles!" 

Harry steps closer to him. "That's true," he says. The group at that table - all guys, all looking to be late twenties - aren't exactly the type that usually call him out. Harry’s interested. 

"My girlfriend fucking loves you, man. Can I get a pic?" 

Harry grins, stepping onto the couch and over the back, into the next table area. The daiquiri and the drink are already going to his head and he feels happy and floaty and like he wants to make some new friends. 

"’Course you can," he says, and ducks his head close as the guy holds up an iPhone. "What's going on over here? Are we celebrating?" 

The whole group is calling at him at once then, and through the shouting Harry manages to pick up the words "married" and "bachelor party." He loves it, loves the idea of a bachelor party, even though the only one he's ever been to was for his step-dad. 

"Bachelor party!" he yells, and the guys cheer back at him. "This calls for some champagne," and he flags down a waitress. An arm falls heavy around his sunburned shoulder as the guys pull him down at their table, and so far, Vegas is everything that was promised. 

 

The bachelor party goes through his bottle of champagne rather quickly, and then they started feeding him other things - flaming sambuca and fireball whiskey, telling him the rule is that they all go shot for shot with the groom. 

One of the guys at the table is a Packers fan, and Harry's showing him his pictures with Donald Driver when someone leans over Harry from behind, his own table, a heavy weight on Harry's shoulders.

It's getting difficult to lift his head, focus his eyes where he wants them, but when he does Liam is there, looking sweaty but smiling. "You ditched us!" he calls, and Harry puts his phone down, twisting toward him. 

"It's Liam!" he yells to the table, and some of them yell back, "Liam!" It makes Liam laugh, and Harry's scooting over. 

"Come here," he calls to Liam, "It's a party!" 

Liam clambers over the couch, careful enough that Harry knows he isn't drunk, not like Harry. He settles in next to Harry, close and warm. Harry's having fun but it's nice to have someone he actually knows, sometimes, and he presses into Liam's side. 

"What kind of party?" Liam asks, looking around, and he gets the same garbled answer from all corners of the booth that Harry did, so Harry leans in close, lips at his ear. 

"Bachelor party!" he calls. "That one-" and he points across the booth to the man slumping a bit, eyes glazed and eying suspiciously the newest shot that's been placed in front of him, "Pete, his name is, he's getting married!" 

Liam grins, easy. It's only because Harry knows him so well that even in his drunken haze he can see how Liam's shoulders tighten. "Congratulations!" Liam calls across the table, the sound carried away by the music. 

Harry watches his face. He has to squint, almost close one eye to bring him into singular focus, but he does, and he makes a decision. 

"Liam isn't drunk," he announces to the table. "What are we going to do about it?" 

Liam's shaking his head. "Harry - " he starts, but Pete's already leaning over the table, tipping precariously, holding a very full shot glass out in Liam's direction. 

"Can't say no to the man of the hour," Harry says in his ear, grinning innocently, and Liam's shaking his head but he laughs and tips the shot back to the sound of cheers all around him. 

 

"I cannot wait to throw a bachelor party," Harry slurs a while later, after more shots and more toasts and another bottle of champagne, courtesy of Liam. "Gonna be a blaaaaast." 

Liam's drunk now, Harry can tell but the relaxed slump of his body and his glassy eyes. He smiles at Harry's words but he doesn't look up, and Harry knows what he's thinking - that maybe it would have been him Harry was throwing his first bachelor party for, but not anymore. 

Harry's only pulled out of staring at him intensely when Liam takes a deep breath and laughs at nothing. "Think I need some air, mate," he says, pulling himself upright and out of Harry's side. 

"Gonna step out for a bit, lads," he says to the table, pulling himself upright and swaying only a little. "Have a brilliant night if I don't see you, and a lovely wedding." 

Harry stands with him. "I'll walk you," he says, holding on to Liam's arm more for balance than anything. 

Pete stands up, somehow, and he's holding out yet another shot. Harry's head is already shaking no, but he pushes it into Harry's body until he has to take it or risk spilling. "One more for the road!" he yells. He shoves another one at Liam. "To my lovely wife!" 

Harry looks at Liam and he's laughing. He's okay, they both are. "To his lovely wife," Liam echoes to Harry helplessly, and they both tip their shots back, and the night goes black.

 

The first thing Harry realizes when he wakes up is that he's fallen asleep in his shoes, which is honestly maybe the worst feeling ever. His head is killing him and the added stress of having heavy, sweaty feet is making him want to hurl. He curls up, his hands swiping uselessly for his feet, until he manages to get both boots unzipped and pushed to the ground, groaning quietly to spare his aching head. He sweeps a hand across the nightstand and finds, miraculously, a cool glass of water just waiting for him. He gulps it down and silently congratulates his drunk self for at least that small bit of foresight. 

He only stumbles out of bed because he has to use the toilet, but once he's out, he's shimmying out of his skinny jeans, eyes narrowed against the light spilling around the curtain. He's out of his jeans and halfway across the room before he realizes - this isn't his room. 

There's a black suitcase in the corner instead of his brown leather bag, and everything's backwards, the bed where the TV should be and the bathroom where the front door should be. Harry blinks, his brain running too slowly to catch up, and then he hears a mobile going off somewhere nearby, but not too nearby. He looks around slowly, but there's no one else around, and his own phone is sat quietly on the nightstand next to his water.

Harry shakes his head. He's too hungover to deal with solving any mysteries at this point, and he has to wee, so he doesn't much care what room he is in. 

He pushes the bathroom door open and the ringing phone gets louder. He spots it on the floor, first; it's not until he bends to pick it up that he sees a hand hanging over the edge of the bathtub, and he stumbles over, his brain suddenly flaring with panic as he realizes there's a body in the bathtub.

He creeps closer to the tub, and when he flings back the curtain, his heart racing and his head pounding, Liam snuffles a little and turns over, pulling his hand in, pushing his face into the pillow of the makeshift bed that's been set up there. 

Harry throws his head back. Liam's room, that's where he is of course. Why Liam is in the bathtub, who knows, but it's better than a dead body. 

Liam looks like he's still out like the dead, so Harry goes to wee, and when the phone goes off again and Harry sees Zayn's name flashing across the screen, Harry tugs his pants up and answers. 

"'lo?" he says, and his voice barely comes out, scratchy and deep. 

"Harry, what the fuck!" Zayn is loud, way too loud for this hour of the morning - or afternoon, Harry isn't certain. Definitely too loud for Harry's hangover. Harry flushes and when he walks by the bathtub again Liam is stirring, but his eyes stay shut. Harry ignores him.

"What the fuck, Harry!" He can hear Zayn yelling again, even holding the phone away from his ear. He wanders back into the room and falls into bed, taking another sip of water. He puts the phone down on the bed in front of him and he can still hear Zayn yelling, but he doesn't know what it's about, just a steady of stream of "what the fuck"s and "what is wrong with you"s. 

"Zayn, I can't right now," Harry says, picking up the phone and putting the microphone near his mouth. "I don't know what your problem is but my head is going to explode if you keep yelling."

"I'm coming over, right the fuck now," Zayn yells, and he hangs up before Harry can tell him he's in Liam's room. 

There's a bump and a crash in the bathroom, and a moment later Liam stumbles out, rubbing his eyes. He looks over at Harry, glaring in to the light, and he looks almost as bad as Harry feels. 

"I was in the bathtub," he tells Harry. 

Harry scrubs a hand through his hair. "I know," he says, and shrugs, in case Liam is going to ask him why. 

Harry reaches out to hand Liam his phone, and he notices he's only wearing two of his rings. He frowns, the phone forgotten. He looks at the nightstand and leans over to grab his jeans, but it's not there. 

"What are you doing?" Liam asks, stumbling over to the nightstand and nicking Harry's water. 

Harry pouts at his hands. "I lost my ring," he says. 

Liam looks at Harry's hands over the top of the water glass, like maybe Harry's just not seeing it. His brows furrow, and then his eyes cross, and he grabs the glass of water with his other hand, holding the left one out. "I've got it," he says, and there it is, Harry's Grateful Dead ring glinting on Liam's ring finger. 

Harry frowns and reaches out. "Give it back," he says. 

"Whiny," Liam mumbles, and slides it off, handing it over. 

A moment later there's banging on the door. 

Harry flops back into the pillows to make it clear he isn't getting it. "That'll be Zayn," he tells Liam. 

"Oh," Liam says, and heads for the door. Harry hears the lock slide and a moment later the door bangs open, and apparently Zayn is still mad. 

"Well look at you two all cozy," Zayn says, looking at Harry in bed and Liam rubbing his eyes near the doorway. He's got a cigarette in his hand, still smoking. 

"This is a non-smoking room, Zayner," Harry tells him as politely as possible. 

Zayn gets a death look in his eye, spinning to face Harry. "I'm so sorry," he says, in a tone that makes Harry think he is decidedly not sorry. "Sorry I’ve been stress smoking all morning thanks to you two." 

Harry's brow furrows. He looks at Liam for an answer, but Liam looks just as blank. Also, a little pale. 

"You should sit down, Liam," Harry says. 

"Oh, you're taking care of him?" Zayn asks, as Liam makes his way to the bed, perching over the covers next to Harry. "I forgot, you have to do that now." 

Harry closes his eyes and leans his head back. "Whatever we did to you, Zayn, can you yell at us about it and then leave? We're tired, and sick." He tips over to lean his head on Liam's shoulder to emphasize his point. 

Zayn watches them, his eyes comically wide, and then he disappears in the bathroom, returning without the cigarette. "You have no fucking clue what you did last night, do you?" he asks, running his hands through his hair. Zayn is never like this, never strung this tight, so Harry thinks whatever they did must have been epic. 

"You know I black out when I drink," Liam says. Harry can feel his chest buzzing beneath his cheek, and he wishes they could go back to sleep. He'd even let Liam out of the bathtub. 

Zayn fixes him with an icy glance. "Where's your phone, Harry?" he asks. Harry gets a little chill of dread then, thinking maybe he'd tweeted something awful. Maybe there were pictures. 

"It's right here," he mumbles, shifting to grab it off the nightstand. When he unlocks it, it doesn't look like anything catastrophic has happened - no calls from management, nothing from his mum - just fourteen missed texts and calls from Zayn. 

"Why don't you look through your texts," Zayn says, voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. "I'll wait." 

Harry opens his texts from Zayn, scrolling up past all the missed ones, to the beginnings of their conversation the night before. A conversation Harry does not remember having. 

**zayn** : where uat?  
 **harry** : walKIUNG  
 **harry** : strop  
 **zayn** : thought u were at a club?  
 **harry** : walkign outside  
 **harry** : so HOT  
 **harry** : 8) *) *8)  
 **zayn** : haha  
 **zayn** : wheres li?  
 **harry** : w me  
 **harry** : were getting married  
 **harry** : [ring emoji] [ring emoji]  
 **harry** : had a bachelor party now WERE GETTING MARRIED  
 **harry** : then li wont be sad anymore  
 **harry** : ill b his family  
 **zayn** : hahaha v funny  
 **zayn** : ??? why is he sad  
 **zayn** : should i meet up w u guys will u be out much longer  
 **harry** : sad bc hes not MARRIED 2ME  
 **harry** : COM 2 LITTLE WHTE CHAPEL  
 **harry** : UR GONNA MISS IT  
 **harry** : ELVISSSSS IS HERW  
 **zayn** : haha stop fucking w me where are u  
harry: [picture of the little white chapel sign, and the corner of liam's face, scrunched up with laughter]  
 **zayn** : what the fuck  
 **zayn** : harry whatever ur doing stop  
 **zayn** : i'm getting a cab stay where u are  
 **zayn** : harry????  
 **harry** : [blurry picture of a hand with a ring on the left finger]  
 **zayn** : IM HERE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU  
 **zayn** : HARRY

Harry looks over at Liam when he finishes reading, but his eyes are closed, apparently uninterested in whatever Zayn is on about. Harry shakes his head and shrugs, laughing. 

"Obviously a joke, mate," Harry says, putting his phone back on the table and burrowing into the covers. "We hung out with a bachelor party for a while last night, that's all." 

"Really!" Zayn says, hands curling like he wishes he still had his cigarette. "Oh, a joke! Well, thank fucking god." He's stalking over to the bag in the corner while he says it, the bag Harry knows is Liam's now, and Zayn flings open the cover, pulling a sheet of paper off the top and getting close enough to Harry to fling it at him. 

"Does that look like a fucking joke to you?" he says, his voice softer but strained, tense. Liam's eyes are open now, looking over Harry's shoulder at the paper he plucks off the bedspread. 

CLARK COUNTY it reads in bold black ink. CERTIFICATE OF MARRIAGE. 

Harry's eyes run down the page and sure enough, there is his name, and something approximating his signature, and on the other side of the page, Liam's. 

"What is that?" Liam asks, voice dangerously calm in Harry's ear. Harry's finger flex around the paper, crinkling the edges. 

"Yeah," Zayn says, quiet now. He sinks onto the bed at their feet. "I found you in the carpark with this - shit, so I went inside to find out what happened." 

"No," Harry says. He finds a smile spreading across his face. "No, this can't be real. I don't even remember." 

"It's Vegas," Zayn says, meeting his eyes. "That's what the lady at the counter said. 'It's Vegas, they paid, they signed.'"

Harry can't make himself look at Liam so he looks at Zayn instead, focusing on his eyes to keep from drowning. 

"This is real," Liam says eventually, stiffly. "This is legal?" 

Zayn looks at him, and Harry isn't sure but he thinks Zayn's glance is softer, more pitying towards Liam, which - isn't fair. Maybe. 

"Yeah," Zayn says, careful and slow. "If it makes you feel better about your choices, the lady said you wouldn't kiss Harry at the end of the ceremony. Not that it matters, you know. Legally." 

Harry frowns at the paper in his hand. He doesn't remember ever seeing it before in his life, and that doesn't seem - that doesn't seem right. 

"We have a show tonight," Liam says, apropos of nothing. Harry closes his eyes and wishes he could disappear. 

"Yes," Zayn says. 

It's quiet for a few moments, except for the whir of the air conditioning. 

"I'm going to take a shower," Liam says finally, voice steady, and Harry feels the bed lift as he gets off, hears the thud of the pillows and blanket being thrown out of the bathroom and the soft click of the door, but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. 

"What are you going to do?" Zayn asks when they hear the shower go on. Harry doesn't know why it falls to him, why Zayn only yells at him and asks him the hard questions while Liam is allowed to run away. 

"I don't know," Harry says. He keeps his eyes sealed for one more minute and then he opens them, letting the bursts of light set off explosions in his brain. He doesn't know, except that he needs to get out of this room right now, before Liam comes back. 

"Right now I'm going back to my own room and I'm going to sleep," he says, and he thinks it means something that Zayn lets him go so easily.

 

Liam's avoiding him. 

It was Harry who left, but it's Liam who stays away. Harry wakes up from his nap, throws a beanie over his hair and stumbles out to the bus taking them to the venue - but Liam isn't in it. 

He directs his question to Zayn. "Where's Li?" 

Zayn fixes him with a heavy look. Harry wonders if the others notice anything is up. "He went over to the venue early," he says. "To work out." 

Harry nods and looks out the window, eyes tripping over the flat brown landscape. He twists his rings around his fingers. 

 

Liam's laughing in the backroom when Harry walks in, his eyes scrunched up. He looks the same as he always has, the same as he did yesterday, and Harry watches him, almost detached, and thinks, _I am married to this person_.

Once Harry went through a phase where he was obsessed with neuroscience, so he knows the brain protects you from things you cannot handle. Dopamine, adrenaline: the brain produces them when it’s gearing up for something painful. Maybe that's why the thought does nothing to stun him. His brain is shielding him from his own mistakes. 

He feels calm, actually, looking at Liam, thinking the word husband. 

Liam catches his eye and flinches. His brain wasn’t ready for that; it hurts.

 

Liam ducks out of the room and Harry still doesn't know what to do. What he wants to do is laugh, and pretend this isn't a big deal, so he goes to find Louis, because Louis will laugh at them and tease them and Harry would rather feel silly than awful. 

Louis's on the bus, sprawled across the back couch. He's just shutting his laptop when Harry wanders in, his face soft in a way that Harry knows he's been talking to his sisters. 

Harry climbs up on the couch near him. "I did a thing," he says. 

Louis's lips are already curling up. "Tell me," he says. 

Harry rearranges his legs so they're crossed, picks at the threads on his jeans. "You know how I took Liam out last night," he begins. 

Louis pushes his laptop away, turning to face Harry. He smiles wider. "Yeah, he's a bit of a wreck today, eh? What'd you do to him?" 

Harry rubs the slice of kneecap poking out of the holes in his jeans. "Well, I," he says, and then has to pause, take a deep breath. He hasn't said this out loud yet. He forces a shaky smile and looks at Louis as steadily as he can. "I married him." 

Louis's face freezes in that old smile, and Harry waits for the loud laugh, the delight, the leg slapping, the taunting. What he gets instead is something soft and unsure, an aborted laugh. "Very funny, Harry," Louis says, and his voice is tight, his eyes going slightly narrow. 

Harry suddenly feels like he might cry. This wasn't what he wanted. Maybe he should have told Niall. "'m not joking," he says, working hard to keep the misery out of his voice, keep up the grin like it's the funniest thing he's ever done. 

Louis, on the other hand, stops smiling at all. He stares, he stares so long that Harry has to look away. Harry fumbles in his pocket, pulling out the piece of paper folded into a tiny square there, and hands it to Louis wordlessly. 

Louis looks down at it for a long time. His fingers trace over their signatures, scrawled across the bottom, and when he looks up his blue eyes are so wide. 

"What the hell were you thinking," he says, and he almost sounds angry. Louis is angry at a lot of people but almost never at one of them. Usually on behalf of one of them. 

And now - on behalf of Liam. 

Harry doesn't think that's fair, and he drops the fake smile and humor. "I think you'll notice Liam's signature is on that paper too," he says. 

"You made him go out," Louis insists. Color is rising on his cheeks. Harry snatches the marriage certificate back, shoving it into his pocket and getting to his feet. 

"He's a grown man," Harry says. "I can't make him do anything." 

Louis's face is hard as Harry looks down at him. "You know how he's been," Louis says, and he's using the reasonable voice he uses when he's being anything but reasonable. "You know he's - you know, Harry." 

"I do know," Harry says, and tries not to sound like he's pleading. "That's why I took him out. I want him to be happy." 

Louis regards him a few more seconds, and finally his face softens, looks the way it always should when he's looking at Harry. "You guys are idiots," he says, and relief washes through Harry's veins, so sudden he could fall down. 

He laughs a little, instead. "Yeah, no kidding." 

Louis rolls his eyes. "Fix this, then, yeah?" he says. Harry knows what he means: fix this without emotionally traumatizing our Liam. 

Harry shoves his hands back in his pockets, fingering the paper there. "Yeah, all right," he says, and he goes to find Liam. 

 

Mark's hooked up the resistance bands to the crew bus and Liam is working on them, shirtless and sweating in the brutal sun, his muscles working under his heat-reddened skin. He grunts, sitting back, his arms straining, and holds it until he can't any longer, standing up and huffing, letting the bands swing back easily. 

When he sees Harry standing there, watching, he picks the ropes back up, his face carefully blank, and starts to work again. 

"Liam," Harry says. 

Liam grunts, already pulling back. Harry steps close enough that he can see Liam's shoulders shaking with exertion. 

"Liam," Harry says again. 

Liam sinks down, his arms extended, his face red with effort. 

"You can't ignore me," Harry says, childish and reckless. "You're my husband now." 

Liam lets go of the ropes, and they snap into the side of the bus, probably leaving dents. 

Liam stays in a crouch, face turned to the ground, hidden from Harry's view. 

"Liam," Harry says again, insistent, when Liam doesn't move. 

He looks up then, squinting into the sun somewhere behind Harry. He huffs out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. "My head hurts," he says finally, touching his temple. 

Harry stares at him, crouched on the ground, sweaty and hungover, and he has to laugh at what a pathetic sight it is. He ducks onto the bus quickly, grabbing a water bottle, and when he gets back Liam's moved to sit with his back against the bus. 

Harry hands him the water and sits down next to him, shoulders together. "Maybe you should stop working out in the 800 degree heat when you're hungover if your head hurts, idiot," he says. 

Liam chugs down half the bottle of water and then grins at Harry around the lip. "I am an idiot, aren't I," he says, and they aren't talking about working out. 

Harry looks out over the carpark, the air still shimmering in the heat. "No more than me, I guess," he says. It takes a beat, but he feels Liam's shoulders shaking with laughter next to him, finally. 

He laughs too, letting himself lean into Liam, even though his skin is uncomfortably hot against Harry's face. 

"What did we do," Liam groans. 

"Hey," Harry says, feigning offense and leaning away from Liam. "You could do a lot worse than me for a first spouse." 

Liam rolls his eyes, taking another smaller sip of water. " _Me_ ," he asks incredulously. "I'd say you're the one who lucked out." 

Harry looks at him, his ruddy cheeks and his old worn out basketball shorts. "Yeah," he says, looking away, watching Niall ride his Segway through the lot at a distance. "Maybe so." 

He doesn't look back, but he feels Liam nudge his shoulder and he knows they'll figure it out. 

 

They wait until after the show to tell Paul, and it takes almost a half an hour to convince him that it isn't a joke. When they do, it's a long night on the bus ride to Los Angeles of calls to their attorneys, and public relations, and research, and scheduling. Somewhere along the way Liam lays his head down on his arms on the table and a few minutes later he's asleep. Harry doesn't bother him, taking care of the details himself. 

It's decided that they'll go to LA for the shows and then come back to take care of the annulment before they head to London for the movie premiere. 

He's petting Liam's hair gently as he sleeps when something occurs to him. "There aren't any pictures?" he asks Paul, keeping his voice low over the top of Liam's head. 

Paul looks supremely annoyed, and Harry smiles sweetly at him. "The chapel takes a picture of everyone as part of the wedding package," he says. "We've already contacted them about getting all the copies and originals. Nothing on twitter yet." 

Harry nods and goes back to looking out the window. "I want to see that picture," he says finally, turning back to Paul. 

"Jesus Christ," Paul says, which Harry knows from experience means yes. He smiles, slow and sleepy, and leans his head back, Liam's shoulders rising and falling evenly beneath his palm.

 

Now that all the boys know, and they know it can be taken care of, it becomes something of a joke. Harry walks into the dressing room in LA, and Liam isn't there. 

"Where's my husband," he asks no one in particular. Zayn is the only one that groans; everyone else indulges him.

"He's in catering," Niall says. "Now that he's hitched he can get fat." 

Harry shrugs. "I like a man with meat on his bones." 

The first few hours aside, Liam seems to think the whole thing is hilarious, and he takes delight in playing it up. During the shows he sings the sappiest parts of his songs to Harry, his expression going serious and dramatic, and Harry touches his face as the crowd screams around them. 

"Maybe you should wear my ring again, while we're still married," Harry muses, right before the second LA show, while they're waiting to go on stage. He starts to twist his Grateful Dead ring off, but Liam's making a face. 

"No way," he says. "That ring is hideous." 

Harry's shocked long enough that Liam is swept up to the stage before he can retaliate. 

 

The have a photo shoot on the third morning in LA, and it’s early, the sun still out of sight but the sky shot with gold above the empty pavement.

Not that Harry sees. His eyes are closed behind his sunglasses, dozing throughout the entire drive.

He doesn’t really wake up until three-fourths of the way through the group shots, but it’s all right. The sleepy disaffected look works on him, he knows. After, Louis gets called for his solo shots first, and when Harry finally picks himself off the ground and wanders in search of food, he finds Liam dumping a truly hideous amount of sugar into his tea at the catering table. 

“That’s atrocious,” Harry informs him. Liam’s turned toward the table, so Harry takes the opportunity to drape along his back, forearms across his wide shoulders, face tucked into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He lets his eyes close, comfortable. 

“It’s delicious,” Liam says. Harry feels his shoulder move as he takes a sip, and then they both shift as Liam moves to set the teacup down. Once he has, Liam settles and stills, letting Harry rest. Later he’ll probably punch Harry in the balls, or pants him in front of 20,000 people, but for now he stands stock-still and lets his tea get cold so Harry can lay on him, and Harry thinks he gets the better deal in the end. 

“You’ll get diabetes,” Harry mutters into his skin. He feels Liam hum beneath him. 

Harry can fall asleep a lot of places, it’s a talent he’s proud of, but he’s never fallen asleep standing up before. He thinks maybe he could, here, knowing Liam wouldn’t let him fall. 

“What’s happening, boys?” Zayn’s voice jerks him out of his half-sleep reverie, and he whines, low, into Liam’s neck. He peeks his eyes open in time to see Zayn snag the teacup off the table and take a sip, pulling a horrified face and setting it back down. 

“That’s Liam’s, then,” he says, and Harry can’t see what face Liam is making – he’s still unmoving, steady under Harry’s arms, but whatever it is, it makes Zayn’s face goes soft and smiling, and he reaches up to touch Liam’s face with the backs of his fingers. 

Harry frowns. Can’t Zayn see Harry and Liam are busy? He reaches up and pushes Zayn’s hand away. 

“This is _my_ husband,” he says, grumpy and whiny. He moves his arms so they’re down around Liam’s, tight, and pushes his head back into Liam’s neck and shoulder needily. “Get your own.” 

Even with his eyes closed he can tell Liam and Zayn are having some kind of conversation with their eyes, but Liam doesn’t move and Zayn doesn’t say anything, just flicks Harry’s ear as he moves away to talk to Niall. Harry sighs, content, his breath fanning out across the back of Liam’s neck, and Liam stands still and quiet until they call him for his shoot.

 

While Zayn rolls his eyes a lot and Louis watches them carefully, Niall, it turns out, really enjoys that Harry and Liam are married and especially likes to play house with them. 

“But where will you live?” he asks, lying on the floor and watching Harry and Liam sharing an orange on the couch. “Harry’s house is bigger, but Liam’s flat is nicer.”

Harry frowns, and Liam wipes his citrusy fingers on his cheek. “Why is his nicer?”

Niall rolls his eyes like its obvious. “Payno has sick stuff at his house,” he says. “You, have you even slept at your house, ever?”

Harry considers. “A few times,” he says. “I can’t stay there alone, it’s haunted.”

“Now you have Payno to protect you,” Niall says. When Harry glances over at Liam, he has an orange peel stuck over his teeth, grinning maniacally, and Harry has to laugh at how dorky it is. 

“Liam’s place is such a bachelor pad though,” Harry reasons when they recover, handing Liam the last slice of orange. 

Niall laughs, loudly. “You’re right,” he says. “Totally inappropriate for a married man.”

Harry nods seriously and looks at Liam. At no point do either of them say, we won’t live anywhere, this will be over in two days.

Liam licks the juice off his fingers. “All right, all right,” he says. “Maybe we’ll have to get our own house, with a nice picket fence. And a dog.” 

“A cat,” Harry corrects. He kicks at Niall’s ankles. 

“A dog and a cat,” Liam says, and after a moment of consideration, Harry nods. Fair enough. 

Niall’s looking up at them, smiling happily. “Well,” he says. “That’s that, then. Can’t wait to see the love nest.” 

 

Immediately after the fourth and last LA show, Harry and Liam are picked up in a van to go to the airport. 

"Wish you two kids coulda made it work," Niall says, smacking kisses on their cheeks. "A damn shame it is."

Zayn's rolling his eyes. He hugs them both and says, "No drinking this time, yeah?" 

"No promises," Harry warns halfheartedly. His eyes are already on Louis, uncharacteristically quiet. 

He hugs Liam first, muttering something in his ear that makes Liam's eyes squint up happily, and then he hugs Harry, and all he says is, "Good luck tomorrow."

Harry's first instinct is to ask what he'll need it for, but he pauses, and Louis watches him. "Thanks," he says finally. "See you soon." 

 

Liam's quiet all the way to the airport, and Harry feels it too. On the plane he lets Liam have the window seat; he knows Liam likes it best, but he'd never ask for it, and more often than not he ends up in the aisle next to Louis. 

"Thanks," Liam says, sounding mildly surprised as he slides in past Harry. 

He opens the window shade even though it’s dark, and he rests his head against the pane, gaze flicking over the landscape. His eyes are drooping; he looks as tired as Harry feels. 

When the plane takes off the crew shuts off the overhead lights, leaving the plane dark. Harry looks over at Liam, to see if he’s still awake, and instead of looking out the window he’s looking at Harry, his face shadowed, only highlighted at the edges by the lights coming from the wings of the plane out the window. 

“You know,” Liam says, and his voice is low, maybe because people are sleeping or maybe because he’s tired himself. Harry thinks he’s smiling a little, but he can’t be sure. “If I had to be accidentally married to anyone –“

He pauses for so long that Harry lifts his chin for Liam to go on, says, “What?” It comes out slow and sleepy, a whisper. 

Liam turns his face back to the window. Harry can tell now, he is smiling. “I’m glad it was you.” 

Harry wants to say something in response, but he’s caught off guard. He knows Liam wouldn’t lie to him, wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t what he was really thinking, but if you’d asked Harry before – if he’d had to put money on it – he’d have guessed Liam would choose Louis, with long odds on Zayn.

Liam isn’t looking at him. Harry doesn’t want to just say, “Me too,” because it sounds insincere, like he’s just saying it because Liam did. Anyway, Liam doesn’t seem to be waiting for a response; his eyes close, and he shifts his neck to get comfortable for sleeping. So Harry reaches over, skates his fingers over Liam’s knuckles until his hand come to rest over Liam’s, still against his thigh.

Liam doesn’t move for a long moment, his eyes still closed, and then he turns his hand over, so they’re palm to palm.

He falls asleep in a matter of minutes. Harry looks past his profile and watches the clouds pass outside. 

 

It's the middle of the night when they get to Vegas. Paul planned it that way; no need for anyone to wonder why they're back in Vegas again so soon. He hustles them into a van with tinted windows and they wait in the dark of the night while the driver gets their bags. 

It’s quiet, until Harry says, "Tomorrow you'll be my ex-husband," which is a thing that he's been thinking. 

Liam looks up from his phone, and he looks surprised. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but Paul interrupts from the front seat. 

"No he won't," Paul says. He sounds tired, and stressed. Harry feels bad about that over anything.

"What do you mean?" Liam asks. He's looking to the front of the van, at Paul, and not at Harry. 

Paul turns to glance at them over his shoulder. "You're getting an annulment," he says wearily. "It means you were never married." 

Harry glances at Liam but he's still looking at Paul, and Harry can't tell what his expression is. 

"But we're married right now," Harry says slowly. 

Paul throws him a strange glance. "But tomorrow we're telling the court that it's invalid, because you didn't consent." 

Harry sits back. It doesn't make any sense. "We're married," he says, softly enough that Paul won't hear, but Liam doesn't turn to look at him. Harry reaches in his pocket and touches the marriage certificate again, frowning.

 

In the morning Harry realizes he doesn't have a suit to wear to court, so he puts on his cleanest jeans and his only collared shirt. He doesn't realize until he's leaving the room that there is something ironic about wearing a shirt covered in little hearts to a hearing to end his marriage. 

Liam's already in the hall. He, apparently, wasn't worried about looking smart for court; he's in jeans and a hoodie. His eyes are heavy, like he didn't sleep. 

When he sees Harry, he approaches, his face serious. "Harry," he says. He reaches for Harry's hand. "I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore. This just isn't working out." 

It takes Harry a moment to catch up, and even then it's only because Liam's mouth twitches into a smile for a moment, like he can't stop himself. 

Harry starts to grin too, and then stops himself, schooling his face into shock. He reaches up to touch Liam's neck. "No, darling," he says. "Don't leave me this way. Think of the children." 

Liam turns his head away, closing his eyes as if he's in pain. A terrible actor, Liam always was. "I'm sorry. It just hurts too much." 

"I can change," Harry cries, drawing him closer, and then the charade drops and Liam's laughing in his face, only a few inches away, his back shaking under Harry's hands, and Harry thinks about kissing him. 

Harry thinks about kissing him all through the drive to the courthouse, and Harry thinks about kissing him while they drink coffee and eat stale pastries in the Court cafeteria. He thinks about kissing Liam while their lawyers speak to the judge, and while they sign their names across the documents ending their marriage, less than a week after it began. 

"We have time for food before our flight," Liam mutters to him as they duck out a side door of the courthouse, and Harry thinks about kissing him. 

They stop at a diner on the way to the airport and sit at a table by themselves, Paul on his phone outside and security sitting guard a few tables away. It's empty though, before 11 am on a Tuesday, and no one even throws a second glance their way. 

Liam shrugs when he orders a double bacon burger and a plate of fries. "It's a long flight back to London," he defends, and Harry smiles at him because he can't not. He swings his feet back and forth under the table, hitting Liam's shins lightly. 

"I'll have the same," he says. "And a milkshake." 

Harry eats his food in stages when it comes, the bacon first, and then the fries, one by one. Liam watches him, looking almost horrified, but he only shakes his head like he's used to Harry. 

He is used to Harry, of course. 

"How did this happen?" Harry asks finally. He thinks maybe after today, when they're back in London, this will be a thing that fades away; they'll joke about it, but they won't talk about it, not in any meaningful way. 

Liam takes a gulp of Harry's milkshake. He never used to do that, either. He looks contemplative, and then he shrugs. "Been wondering that myself, mate," he says. "You don't remember anything?" 

Harry doesn't, not really. He'd woken up one morning in Los Angeles with a snippet of the night, clear as day in his head - stumbling down the Strip with Liam under his arm, winding around crowds of people too old to care who they are, saying, "Don't be sad, don't be sad, I'm your family, don't be sad." 

He doesn't tell Liam this. He just shakes his head and eats another fry. 

Liam watches him a little and then shrugs, taking a small bite of his burger. "I don't know, Hazza," he says after he swallows. "I guess there was some brief moment in time that we decided we wanted to be married to each other." 

He smiles a little, almost shy. Harry doesn't smile back, thinking on his words. They eat in silence for a few minutes. 

"Liam?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Do you believe in soulmates?" 

Harry has spent a lot of time with Liam, and mostly he can predict what Liam is going to say before he starts. But he's surprised when Liam brushes off the question without hesitation, scoffing, "No, I don't." 

Harry sets his burger back down without taking a bite. "You don't?"

Liam's frowning like the question annoys him, but Harry doesn't understand why. "No," he says. "I think that's silly, and I don't think it's particularly romantic either."

"Explain," Harry orders, sucking the last of his milkshake through a straw. 

Liam shrugs. "I just don't get why it's supposed to be romantic that you're with someone because you're destined to be - like, you have no choice in the matter. Isn't it way better to be like, I could probably be with lots of people in the world, but I choose you?" 

Harry rubs his face. He's starting to feel the tiredness of everything that’s happened in the past days, the past _years_ , catching up with him. "Yeah," he says slowly. "I guess I never thought of it like that." 

Liam grins at him and steals his last french fry. 

 

"You know what I was thinking about?" Harry asks. They're almost at the airport, alone in the back of a limo. Apparently Paul doesn't care about keeping them covered anymore. Everything is over.

"Do I ever?" Liam asks. 

"I was thinking about how Zayn said that you wouldn't kiss me at the end of ceremony," Harry says, working to keep his voice steady.

Liam just raises an eyebrow, keeping his eyes on his phone. "Funny how I could say no to that but not to, like, the wedding in general."

"Funny," Harry repeats, and doesn't find it particularly so. "But no, that's exactly my point. Why would you say no?" 

Liam does look up them, amusement in his eyes. "I'm sorry, are you offended?"

Harry takes a moment to consider, but then - "Yes! Of course I am! Why would you say no to me at our wedding?" 

Liam laughs, and Harry feels like he's floating away - that excited buzzing beneath his skin that he gets when he's flirting with someone that he likes. This is wrong, it's a terrible idea, but this whole adventure is also almost over and so Harry lets himself toe the line. 

Liam's laugh dies down and then he's just smiling softly, looking at Harry's face, and maybe Harry's not the only one being a little reckless before this all ends. "Guess I was a little out of my mind," Liam says finally, and does not look away. 

Harry does. He looks away, out the window, at the landscape quickly becoming familiar. "Maybe we should do it now," he says, keeping his eyes trained away from Liam, because sometimes he is still a coward, sometimes he is still scared. 

But Liam waits for him to look before he responds. He doesn't look shocked, or offended, or uncomfortable. He just looks like Harry's friend. 

"No wedding kiss, but an annulment kiss," he muses quietly. He's already moving closer, inching across the seat. "That sounds just weird enough to be perfect for us." 

Harry wants to laugh like they always do, but his heart in his throat prevents him - and it's strange, it's not right, because Harry's kissed many, many people in his life, and this is Liam, and he shouldn't be nervous, but he is. 

_I was married to this person, and now I'm not_ , is what he thinks as Liam gets closer, and then they're kissing. 

Liam's mouth is cold, probably from Harry's milkshake, and Harry expected him to be jokey, and quick, and maybe dramatic like they were earlier in the hall, but he's not any of those things. He's firm, and steady, pressing in sure against Harry's lips, letting Harry sink into it before his lips part. He catches Harry's bottom lip between his teeth, pulling out gently but not too much, just enough to sting in a good way. And then he lets go, smiling against Harry's lips, pulling away for just a second before he places another, soft, short kiss against Harry's lips, and one at the corner of his mouth, and then he pulls away completely. 

Harry stares at him. Liam's smiling, and Harry thinks his eyes are still on Harry's lips, and then he's moving away before Harry even has a chance to stop him. 

"Happy now?" Liam asks. 

Harry doesn't know how to answer, so he doesn’t.

 

By the time they get to the airport Harry is nearly buzzing out of skin. It's worse because Liam's acting like nothing happened, playing on his phone and humming along to the radio. Harry doesn't know how he's supposed to sit next to him for 10 hours on a plane and act like a normal human being. 

They're in line to check in when he decides he can't do it. 

"I think I'm gonna go back to LA," he says to Liam. Liam, for the first time, looks taken aback. 

"What?" he asks, but Harry's already pushing forward to talk to Paul about getting on a different flight. 

He deals with Paul being put out, and swearing that he'll be back in plenty of time for the movie promo, and by the time he looks back Liam's head is down, over his phone, and Harry has no idea what he's thinking at all. 

His new flight is in the domestic terminal, so as soon as he has a ticket he pushes down all his jittery stupid feelings and pastes a bright smile on his face, approaching Liam with his arms out. 

Liam's face is blank, but he hugs Harry back mechanically. "Bye, have a good break!" Harry calls, all faux cheerfulness, and his heart beat doesn't slow until he's put two terminals and a security checkpoint between himself and Liam.

 

Harry lays on the beach every day for a week and goes back to his hotel with sand in his hair, pouring out of his pockets. 

One morning he wakes up at 3 a.m., thinks of all the people in the world who wake up at 3 a.m. If he'd had a different life, maybe he would wake up at 3 to go to the gym, eat breakfast with his roommate, or his wife, or his cat, go to work. Come home. Repeat.

 _What if I was a binman_ , he texts Gemma. 

Her reply comes quickly. The benefits of different time zones. _I'd get to see you more_ , it says. 

She must be tired. They don't usually do this. 

He doesn't respond, already slipping back into the darkness, leaving waking dreams behind.

 

“Your hair looks stupid,” she tells him when he calls her on Friday, the night before he heads back to London. 

Harry frowns. “Your hair looks stupid,” he retaliates, but it doesn’t feel right. “No, it doesn’t. It looked very nice when you were here.” 

She laughs. It’s the only thing that’s made him feel like himself in days. 

 

He doesn’t talk to Liam, and Liam doesn’t try to talk to him. It’s okay. Harry’s brain is protecting him, after all. 

 

Harry gets back to London just in time for a full day of promo. Niall hugs him in the carpark like he knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t. He doesn’t. 

Harry shakes out his hair and sand falls out. Two minutes later Liam walks in holding the hand of a beautiful girl with long hair and longer legs. 

If Harry’s mad at all, it’s only because Liam thought of it first. 

 

Harry wanders back to catering and Liam’s there, alone, looking over the platters of fruit. Harry knows him, so he knows Liam is wishing there was chocolate. 

“Hey,” Liam says when he looks up to find Harry. “How was LA?” 

He looks perfectly normal, is the thing. Not guilty at all. Why would he be? 

Harry picks up a slice of mango and eats it. It was better in California. “Good,” he says. “How’s London?” 

Liam shrugs. He reaches for a handful of pretzels but doesn’t eat any. “Same as ever,” he says, but it’s not. Obviously. 

“You’ve been busy, I see,” Harry pushes. 

Liam blinks at him, blankly. “Not really,” he says. 

Harry takes another slice of mango. It tastes sour. 

 

The premiere is unbelievable. Harry knows, objectively, that they have a lot of fans – that there are crowds wherever they go – but shutting down Leicester Square is a new ballgame, for him at least. His whole family comes, all his friends, and so many fans, everyone he cares about gathered in one place. 

He drinks too much champagne and dances in circles on the dance floor, kisses everyone he sees because he’s young and rich and on top of the fucking world. 

He doesn’t kiss Liam. He sees Liam, briefly, huddled in the corner with his new girl – his lovely, lovely girl – and then he pretends not to see any more. 

 

Two days later he really can’t believe they’re going to fly to New York and do it all again.

He’s the first one at the airport, which, like, never happens. He’s an adult though. He sits at the airport bar and drinks scotch and pretends to like it. 

He’s only a little bit sloshed when the other boys turn up. 

Sometimes when Harry is drunk he’s moody, and sometimes when he’s drunk he’s really, really happy. He decides, spur of the moment, that today he’s feeling drunk and clingy. He wraps his arms around Niall as soon as he gets close enough. 

“Jesus, Harry, you smell like you licked a pub floor,” Niall says, hands on his waist to steady him. He’s still trying to walk forward, toward the gate, but Harry doesn’t let go. 

“Mmph,” Harry says, rubbing his face against Niall’s. “I was all alone.” 

“Come on, now,” Niall says, and tries to rearrange him in a way that allows them to walk. He keeps holding on to Harry though, so Harry allows it. 

He’s drunk enough to sneak a peek at Liam out of the corner of his eyes. He’s yawning, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his hair. He’s not looking at Harry at all. 

Harry hugs Niall closer, lets himself be dragged forward. 

 

Zayn sits next to him on the plane, just behind Niall and Liam. Louis’s off somewhere else, sitting with Eleanor. 

Harry’s knee bounces, jittery, and when he looks over toward the window, Zayn is eyeing him. 

“What’s wrong with you,” he asks suspiciously. 

“Nothing,” Harry says, and knows he’s whining. 

Zayn throws him a disbelieving look but goes back to his magazine. 

Harry pushes his face into the gap between the seats in front of him. Niall’s playing a game on his iPad and Liam’s on his phone. 

“Are you texting your girlfriend?” he asks before he can even think about it – loud and obnoxious. “And right in front of your ex-husband. Cruel, you are, Liam.”

Liam looks up, twists back to look at him, and his eyes are wide and questioning. 

“Harry –“ Niall starts, and there’s worry in his voice. Harry doesn’t understand why.

He tries to grin. It isn’t his fault if it feels more like a grimace. He shakes his head between the seats, eyes still on Liam. “You’re breaking my goddamn heart,” he says. 

He means it as a joke. He’s sure he meant it as a joke, that it came out light. Funny, like that bit they’d done in the hallway in Vegas, before they went to court and everything ended. There’s no reason for Liam look so stricken; for Zayn to grab Harry’s leg like he’s trying to hold Harry together. 

Is he falling apart? 

Harry takes in their faces, one by one – they don’t even look mad, is the thing, just worried. Upset. Harry can’t force a smile anymore, his lips turned downward and stuck. “Excuse me,” he mutters, pushing Zayn’s hand off and stalking to the bathroom. 

He sits with his head on his knees and breathes, the locked door protecting him in a way his brain can’t. He wishes Zayn were there. He thinks he might be falling apart. 

 

When he gets out of the bathroom he goes to find Louis and El, and they spend the rest of the flight playing cards with him and pretending they don’t notice anything wrong. 

It’s so kind. It makes Harry feels awful.

 

They treat him like a feral, wounded animal for the rest of the trip. Maybe that’s kind of what he is. He’s relieved when he makes it to the hotel and someone hands him his key; he needs to be away, away, away. 

He’s just crashed face first into his bed when there’s a knock on his door. 

“No,” he says out loud, but it’s muffled into his pillow, and a minute later the knock comes again. 

Harry groans and stands up to get it. 

“Hello,” Liam says when he opens the door. Harry didn’t expect him, or maybe he did. He’s not sure what he’s thinking anymore. 

He rubs a hand over his face. “I was just about to take a nap,” he says, and he knows he sounds cranky and young. He backs up into the room and leaves the door open for Liam to follow, regardless. 

Liam closes the door gently, and when he turns around his face looks pleasantly calm. “I reckon we should talk,” he says easily, and Harry’s insides go sour. 

“About what?” he shoots back, falling onto the bed. 

Liam fixes him with a gaze gone sharp. “You know what, Harry.” 

But Harry is stubborn. He turns his face to the side, pressing his cheek to the bed and closing his eyes. “About feelings?” he asks. “I’m not your girlfriend, Liam.”

Harry doesn’t know why he keeps doing this. 

Harry feels the bed shift as Liam sits at the edge. When he peeks one eye open, Liam is looking down at him – fond, instead of angry, like he should be. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Liam says first, and Harry’s breathing goes shallow. “I had a few dates. Just dates.”

You _had_ a husband, Harry thinks. But then, Harry wasn’t his husband. They weren’t married, that’s what Paul said. He squeezes his eyes closed and doesn’t say anything.

Liam swipes a hand over Harry’s hair, brushing it back. Harry doesn’t understand why he’s not angry. “Always so sensitive,” Liam says, almost to himself. 

Harry’s brow furrows. He’s lost the plot. “I’m tired, Liam,” he says, and instead of sounding firm it sounds pleading. 

Liam looks at him and then shrugs, turning away. Harry regrets the loss. 

“All right,” Liam says. He gets to his feet. “If you do want to talk, we can. I don’t want –“

He cuts himself off, shrugs, and Harry’s wide awake suddenly. He lifts to his elbows, looks at Liam. 

“Don’t want what?” he asks. 

Liam looks at him, face gone helpless. “I want us to be good,” he says finally. 

Harry wants that too. He wants that, but more. 

Liam's halfway turned toward the door when Harry finds the voice to stop him. "Remember how you said there must have been a moment when we wanted to be married to each other?" 

Liam's face, when he turns back, is unreadable. "Yes," he says calmly. It wasn't that long ago; of course he remembers. 

Harry can't meet his eyes; he's usually better at this, at asking for what he wants. He usually knows he's going to get it. 

"And how you said you think people choose each other," he stumbles forward. There's a wrinkle in Liam's brow; he isn't following, but he's trying. He always tries. 

"Yes," he says slowly. He takes a step closer to the bed and Harry brings his legs in, curling in to himself, because of all the ways this could go so horribly wrong. 

"I think I want you to choose me again," Harry says, his arms round his knees, his face turned up to look at Liam's. Liam looks back, and his mouth opens a little, but he doesn't say anything; he just stands there, alone and small looking in the middle of the floor in Harry's hotel room, harsh lights gleaming off his hair. Harry can picture him like that on the Vegas strip, can imagine himself saying the words, let's get married. Can imagine wanting that, forever. 

Liam's head tips. "Choose you?" he asks, his voice going high in a way that Harry would normally make fun of him for. "Choose you for what?"

Harry tightens his fingers around his knees, his mouth gone dry, and he just looks at Liam, willing him to get it. The air conditioner whirs above them, stirring up everything in the room just a little bit.

Liam straightens suddenly, fixing Harry with an incredulous stare. "Harry, are you proposing again?" 

Harry blinks, and then he's laughing, and then Liam is too, and that's the thing. Liam always makes him laugh, he always makes things fun, even the aftermath of an ill-planned quickie marriage in Vegas, and that's all that Harry wants. 

Harry grabs for a pillow and throws it at him. "What makes you so sure it was me who proposed?" 

The pillow bounces off Liam's face, but he just laughs, of course. He goes to reach for it and Harry knows he needs to prepare himself for retaliation. 

"Please," Liam says. He walks closer to the bed, casual, the pillow gripped in one hand. Harry keeps an eye on it, but he wants to look at Liam too. "We both know that entire evening reeked of Harry Styles." 

Harry frowns. There's doubt creeping its way up his spine and into the back of his throat, because Liam's playing off this whole thing, even how Harry said he wants Liam to choose him, and now Liam's saying he wouldn't have proposed to Harry - but even still, even if it was Harry's idea -

Harry gets to his knees on the bed, steadying a hand on the pillow Liam is still holding to protect himself, and he gets up eye level with Liam. "Either way," he says, low and half-threatening, "You said yes." 

Harry doesn't miss the way Liam's eyes flick to his lips, quick but noticeable, or the way his shoulders slacken. Harry lets go of the pillow and touches the collar of Liam's shirt, the side of his neck. 

"You've got me," Liam says, eyes gone liquid and voice soft at the edges. "I said yes." 

Harry's lips start to curl up. He raises his eyes, meets Liam's, and they're close, closer than they've been in days. Harry feels more comfortable now, going for something he's pretty sure he can get, and he's curling one hand into Liam's hair when he shifts, suddenly, and then Harry topples sideways with the force of the pillow hitting him in the side. 

He hangs off the side of the bed, slumped toward the floor, dazed enough not to know what happened for a few seconds. "Heyyyy," he says, when he sees Liam smirking above him. 

Liam sits down next to his legs, helps to haul Harry back up. "Now we're even," he says. 

Harry thinks, are we? And the room is silent. 

"In Vegas," Liam says eventually, all the laughter gone from his voice. It's gone rough and he clears his throat a few times. "The last time in Vegas, after. When we were leaving." 

Harry's sitting next to Liam, trying to see his face, but he can't. Liam's hunched over; he used to hunch because he was trying to make himself small, but now it's mostly just because he has terrible posture. That's a funny thing to know about someone, Harry thinks. 

"You just left so fast, out of nowhere," Liam finishes suddenly, rushing out the words. "I thought, like - because of what happened in the car -" 

He looks up then, shrugging, and because Harry knows him he knows the blank face is the result of effort, not natural. 

Harry looks for the right explanation, and what he comes up with is, "I was overwhelmed." 

Liam nods like that's enough, but he says, "You could have told me." 

He's right, and maybe Liam should have told him some things too, but Harry doesn't want to dwell on it, not with Liam here and making him laugh and sitting in his bed. "I just did," he says instead, voice edging into a whine, nudging Liam with his shoulder so he knows it's okay to laugh.

He does. "Yeah, suppose you did," he says, and he looks at Harry for a long time. Harry hasn't the slightest idea what he's thinking, but he looks back, and he's thinking about vows - he doesn't know what he and Liam said but he knows what they usually say at weddings. Love him, honor him, comfort him, in sickness and health. It would have been easy to say to Liam, because they've both always done that anyway. 

Liam smiles suddenly, brilliant, like he's come to a conclusion, and Harry smiles back because he wants to. Liam takes his hand. 

"Since we're in agreement that you definitely proposed," Liam starts, and Harry rolls his eyes but bites back the retort on his tongue, "I guess it's my turn to do this." 

He looks at Harry seriously, and Harry can see Liam next to him on a stage, on a bus, in a club, on an alter.

Then Liam smiles again, and it's just them, in a hotel room. 

"Harry, will you go on a date with me?" 

 

****

 

“Don’t know why we paid for this expensive suite if you’re just going to stay in bed all weekend.” 

Harry forces one eye open, twists to peer into the doorway where Liam is standing. He’s eating some of the chocolate covered fruit the hotel left in the living room, and he looks tan and fucking gorgeous and way too far away. 

“Because we have more money than we know what to do with,” Harry groans, mostly into the mattress. “Why’re you wearing pants? ‘s against the rules.”

Liam walks closer, picking his way over the clothes strewn about the bedroom. “Thought it’d be smart, you know, with the living room wall made of windows and all.” 

“We’re thirty stories up,” Harry reminds him. When Liam’s close enough he shoots his arm out, gets his grip around Liam’s wrist, starts to lick the chocolate off his fingers, dragging his tongue slowly slowly slowly down, keeping his eyelashes lowered. He can see Liam’s abs catch, hitch. 

“Still,” Liam says. He keeps his voice even, Harry is impressed. He takes Liam’s ring finger in his mouth down to the knuckle, sucking lightly; Liam hadn’t worn Harry’s ring long enough to get a tan line or anything, but Harry sometimes imagines him marked there. 

He slides his mouth off Liam’s finger with a pop and turns up to face him, pouting. “It’s our anniversary,” he says. “Take off your pants.”

“The anniversary of our annulment,” Liam says, rolling his eyes fondly, but he hooks his thumbs in his pants and pulls them off anyway. Harry rolls onto his back and grins victoriously, the sheets barely covering his lower half. 

Liam smiles down at him, soft, and even though he’s naked and Harry had plans to ravish him immediately, he takes a moment to look up at Liam seriously, his hands and his arms and his kind kind lovely face, and Harry’s stomach goes nervous suddenly as he says, “I got you something.” 

Liam frowns immediately. “We don’t buy each other presents, Harry,” he starts, but Harry’s already leaning over the edge of the bed, feeling for his bag. 

“Didn’t buy it,” he mumbles, finding his luggage and pulling the small rectangular gift out of the side pocket where he’d hidden it. He holds it up, not quite meeting Liam’s eyes but still knowing he looks disappointed. 

Eventually Liam huffs out a breath. “Shove over, then,” he says, and crawls into bed next to Harry, pulling the sheets over himself. When he’s arranged himself he reaches for the present, and Harry thinks he might be blushing, so he pushes his face into Liam’s arm, feeling his muscles move as he tears off the paper. 

“Wrapped that myself, you know,” he says into Liam’s bicep, smiling as Liam pauses to press a kiss into his forehead.

Liam’s silent when he gets the paper off, and Harry waits, still. 

“Oh my god,” Liam says finally, and he truly sounds awed. Harry lifts his head so his chin is on Liam’s shoulder, so he can see the gift, even though he knows it well; he’s looked at it enough over the past year. 

They’re in the chapel. Harry doesn’t remember the night, but he knows it’s the chapel because there’s an alter framing them, and Elvis is visible over Harry’s shoulder. Also, there’s a huge “Little White Chapel” logo in the corner. In the foreground of the photo, Harry and Liam are laughing into each other’s faces, and Liam hand is splayed across Harry’s chest, Harry’s silver ring prominent against his tan skin. 

“Oh my god,” Liam says again, and he twists away from Harry so he can turn to look at him. “Where did you get this?”

Harry keeps his eyes on the picture, rather than on Liam’s face. “Paul bought out all the pictures and destroyed them,” he says, fingering the edge of the frame he’s put it in. “He made the mistake of telling me first, so. I got one.” 

Liam turns back to look at the picture. He touches the glass of the frame, runs his thumb over Harry’s laughing face and then his own. 

“We look so happy,” he says finally, like he’s surprised. Harry looks at the picture again, even though he knows; Liam’s right. They do look very, very happy. 

“Are we that happy now?” Liam asks, and then Harry does look at him. He’s smiling, so Harry already knows he’s kidding, a little bit. Of course they’re happy. Harry’s delirious with it sometimes. 

“You tell me,” Harry says. Liam twists away, setting the photo on the nightstand behind him, running his fingers over it one more time, and then he turns back, folding into Harry, their faces close. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, serious. “Suppose I am.”

Harry smiles at him, leans in to catch his mouth; they’ve been at it for two days already, barely left the room, but Harry never gets tired of him, never stops wanting. He opens his mouth over Liam’s, pressing in, but Liam pulls away. 

“What about you?” he asks. His face isn’t readable; he twists his fingers in Harry’s hair. “Are you that happy?”

Harry has to laugh, and Liam’s eyebrows go up in surprise and amusement. “What’s so funny?” he asks, tugging at Harry’s hair. 

“What’s funny,” Harry growls, pushing so he’s laying over Liam, looking down at him. “Is that I’m even happier, if you can believe that.”

Liam grins. “Don’t suppose I can, mate.” He turns to look at the picture again, half upside down, and then back at Harry. “Is it possible?”

“It’s possible,” Harry says. He frames Liam’s face with his hands, leans down and kisses him quickly. “Because you actually let me kiss you now.” 

Liam’s laughing wildly then, his eyes scrunched up as Harry tries to keep him still. “You promised not to hold a grudge for that!” he yells, twisting beneath Harry like he’s trying to get away. If he was really trying to get away he could, Harry knows.

Harry waits for him to still and then kisses him again. “I’m not,” he says, stroking his hair away from his face. “I’m just saying you owe me, a lot and forever.”

“Is that right,” Liam says, suddenly soft, eyes still so bright and happy. Harry could say no, could say Liam doesn’t owe him a thing just please stay here, please never leave, but then Liam’s knees are coming up around Harry’s hips, pressing up against him and he’s half-hard already, just from this, and Harry wants. 

He inhales sharply before he presses back down, smiling wickedly. “Yes,” he says. Liam gets him by the neck then, holding him place while he kisses Harry hard, as if Harry would try to get away. He wouldn’t. He holds still, letting Liam lick into his mouth and grind up against him, their cocks sliding against each other almost painfully, sheets sliding away and onto the ground, forgotten. 

“Fuck me,” Harry pants when Liam finally pulls away, moving to his jaw and his neck. He rolls his hips in little circles, making Liam groan low in his throat. “Fuck me, yeah, Liam?” 

Liam’s eyes are dark when he pulls back, his brow creased. “Again?” he asks, wearily, like he already knows he’s not going to win this fight. “It’s too much, it will hurt –“ 

Harry just grinds his hips down again. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m not breakable.” 

Liam kisses him, but Harry knows this trick, knows how Liam tries to distract him. He reaches between them, gets a hand around Liam’s dick, slides his fingers up and over the head, slow, dragging his tongue along Liam’s lower lip. 

Liam breathes out shakily. “C’mon,” he says. “You can do me.”

It sounds nice but it isn’t what Harry wants right now. He’s already reaching over Liam, to the bedside table for lube, shaking his head. “Later,” he says. He drops the tube on Liam’s chest, settling back over him. “Me, now.” 

Liam still looks hesitant, but he shakes his head, says, “Greedy, you are,” and unscrews the cap. Harry barely even needs anything, they’ve already done this today, more than once, but Liam goes slow and careful anyway because he always does, slow to get him ready and slow when he pushes in, looking up at Harry’s face carefully, for signs of pain. 

And yeah, Harry’s a little oversensitive and sore, but he likes it – he breathes out, shaky, says, “Just stay slow, yeah?” and Liam nods, his hands going to Harry’s hips, smoothing down his sides. 

Liam turns them so Harry’s on his back, arm supporting him, rolls his hips, slow and lazy. It feels sharp, heavy somehow, and Harry lets his eyes fall shut, ankles closing around Liam’s calves, letting him do the work. Liam closes his hand around Harry’s fingertips, brings them to his mouth, kissing them gently, and Harry just watches him with half-lidded eyes. His stomach swoops; it feels more intimate than anything else they’re doing. 

They’ve done this so much this weekend that they both know it’s going to take awhile. Neither of them are in any hurry to rush it, just kissing, moving their hips slowly, murmuring to each other. It does start to be a bit much to take eventually, for Harry, so he looks up at Liam, asks, “Close, love?”

“You, first,” Liam says, and reaches between them, fist closing around Harry’s cock and twisting. He doesn’t tease, not now; immediately falls into the rhythm he knows will get Harry there, dragging his hand up in time with his hips snapping against Harry, rubbing his thumb over the head until Harry groans into the crook of his arm and comes, stomach jumping. 

Liam kisses his cheeks and his jaw until he comes down, and then Harry wraps his legs and arms around him, says, “Your turn,” and his face goes serious, concentrating. Harry could laugh if he wasn’t so relaxed, sated. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs into Liam’s ears, because even though that kind of thing usually makes him blush, it works him up and Harry knows it. “You’re so bloody gorgeous, Liam, can’t believe I get to fuck you all the time –“ 

Liam’s hips stutter, his biceps starting to shake as he tries to hold himself up over Harry, and Harry circles his hips as Liam goes taut above him, giving a few more half-hearted thrusts before he’s coming, silent, his face pressed into Harry’s neck, breaths heavy and shaky. 

Harry strokes his shoulders, his back, when Liam slumps over him. “We’ll get cleaned up, right, love,” he murmurs, because this is the only time Liam really lets Harry take care of him, “And then we’ll have a nap and then we’ll order food.” 

Liam hums, and Harry takes it as approval. He rolls off Harry eventually and they do get cleaned; Harry even lets Liam put his pants back on, because he says it makes him feel better. 

And then they’re back in bed. It’s still only early afternoon; the sun is slanting in through the sheer curtains, and the day stretches out in front of them. Out the window Harry’s sure they have a view of the Strip, and a ton of things to do; shopping, bars, restaurants, even that rollercoaster Liam went on once. 

Harry turns over in bed, looking to where Liam is starting to doze, and he doesn’t care about any of it. 

“What’s that thing you say,” Liam says suddenly, his voice already going slurred at the edges with sleep. He flops so he’s facing Harry. “When you get married. I, Liam, take you, Harry…” 

Harry smiles at him even though his eyes are closed and he doesn’t see. “To have and to hold, to honor and to cherish,” he supplies, trying to remember the words. He’s seen them in movies; it’s hard to believe he’s said them himself, but then, looking at Liam, maybe not. 

“For richer or poorer,” Liam puts in, cutting himself off with a yawn. “In sickness and in health.” 

Harry runs his fingers through the hair at Liam’s temples. “For all the days of my life,” he finishes quietly. 

“For all the days of my life,” Liam repeats, voice slumber-thick but still sincere, somehow, and Harry smiles, and they sleep.


End file.
